April's apology
by Rodlox
Summary: April apologizes. Maia apologizes. Pizza ensues.


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title:April's Apology.

Rating:K / K+

author:Rodlox.

summary:April takes Maia out for some fun after apologizing.

POV:Maia.

missing scene/coda to:Carrier.

spoilers:Voices Carry, Carrier.

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"Maia?" Aunt April says after we sit for a while. _ I think my clock stopped. _I sniffle but don't answer her. "I'm sorry, Maia."

"I trusted you."

"Your mom's probably told you I don't do well with tests; 'specially when they're not on paper."

"Shouldn't matter," I say.

She's quiet for a minute, then, softly and more to herself, "Damnit I'm my mother."

_I don't understand._ "What?" _You and my mom talk about grandma Skouris now and then, but I never got a clear picture of her._

"You've probably noticed I don't do well with people my own age," Aunt April says, looking at my wall. "And except for your mom, no Skouris woman's ever been good with kids. And you, you're unique." _Special. _"And like your grandmother, I'm clearly not parenting material."

_Oh._ "Aunt April?"

"Yeah?" looking to me.

"What did you think? About what I do?"

"I don't know," she says with a weak shrug. "I guess I thought you saw an outcome and said what you saw." _The future's real, so you thought I couldn't lie or test? _"I'll go pack. When your mom comes home, I'll say my goodbyes."

"No!" _ That's not what's **supposed **to happen._

"Its okay," Aunt April says. "You might trust yourself, but I don't trust myself."

"I trust you," _and **I do.**_

"Thanks. But like I said, I don't trust me." She takes a breath and, "Tell you what," Aunt April told me, "how 'bout I take you and your mom out for pizza, my treat. Or just you if you like. One last outing. Maybe I can show you how well I can predict things," her voice saying she'd be trying a second time, having failed the first.

I wipe away a tear, "But what about the ring?" I try to focus on it, but all I can sense is my own voice -- _I don't understand. I have an idea, but I'm not sure._

Aunt April smiles lopsidedly. "If a Skouris was ever able to hold a grudge, I would've thrown a party for losing that ring -- that's assuming your mom didn't sell it off first."

"But it belonged to your mom." _ And that's important._

Dryly, "You've never met your grandmother Skouris." Better-humored again, "So, what do ya say? Pizza, spagetti, or do you feel up for some Chinese?"

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**TEN MINUTES LATER:**

I wonder why Aunt April was so surprised; I like Chuck E Cheese. When we get there, she makes sure we have plenty of tokens, and after we have two pizzas, she leads me over to a game table covered with big circles; I know this one, its where the gopher pops up and we have to try to hit him. Mom doesn't like me playing it, and I try to say as much. It can't be just because the table has a sign over it saying **Current Champion: April Skouris **and has a lot of points tallied to it.

"No problem," Aunt April says. "Wish me luck," picking up the mallet and -- she's fast. I can't even predict that many of the gophers. The machine gives us a dozen tickets for her hard work.

"You know where they're going to be," I say as she keeps banging the bowling-pin-shaped burrowers.

"I guess," Aunt April says; "though this is the only place where my guesses are worth anything -- and the only pay is a stuffed animal," her voice saying she's okay; "so, teddy bear or tiger?" as more tickets come out.

"Teddy," I say.

"Oka-"

"Hello, Maia," Werner tells me, and Aunt April drops her mallet and turns around fast.

"Hi," I say to him.

"Back off," Aunt April tells him, her voice scarier than I've ever heard it. "Leave my niece alone."

He takes a step back. "My pardon, freulein, I was simply saying hello to an aquaintance from quarantine," and when Aunt April looks to me for confirmation, I nod: _we were in Building B, where he used to tell me stories about his time in Khazakhstan, building the Communist rockets._

"Sorry," Aunt April says. "Thought you were a weirdo."

"I have been called that and worse. My name is Werner," he tells Aunt April.

"Hi," Aunt April says. "I'm April," and tells him that, sure, he can sit with us. He's very tall.

"April?" he asks. "April Skouris?"

"Yeah."

"Then I believe you dropped this," pulling a folded-up hankerchief from his shirt pocket, handing it to Aunt April, who unfolds it: grandma Skouris' engagement ring's there. _Thank you, Werner Klein. And I smile._

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the end.


End file.
